


Not Ticklish

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: Kinkbruary 2021 [25]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Banter, F/F, Kinkbruary (Doctor Who), Tickling, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Just to be clear, Clara isnotticklish. At all.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: Kinkbruary 2021 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139585
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Not Ticklish

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkbruary day 25! Tickling! We're on the home stretch now!

The Doctor discovered Clara's secret (one of her secrets, at least) by accident. 

The two of them were hiding from a giant thing with too many tentacles that was in some kind of terrifying mating frenzy, and of course _this_ would be a thing that would happen when the Doctor promised to take her to the beach.

New face, same Doctor.

But they were crouched in some kind of tiny little beach hut, and Clara was _really_ regretting her choice of bathing suit. Why had she let the Doctor talk her into it? 

Admittedly, she looked _amazing_ in a bikini, and the gut shot the Doctor had given her when she'd pulled her cover up had been worth it. Or it had been at the time, except now she was being slowly tormented by the sensation of the Doctor's sleeves brushing against her sides. She was trying not to laugh, she was trying not to wriggle, she was trying not to make any noise, or else they'd be caught.

But it _tickled_ , and she'd always been _dreadfully_ ticklish, especially in times of heightened emotion. She was trying not to squirm, trying not to kick, trying to stay still and breathe evenly and _not_ giggle. There was a little seed of arousal beginning to wriggle through her, and now was very much not the time for that. 

Something was moving across Clara's ribs, and then the Doctor's fingers were gently brushing over her, wriggling.

"You've got cobwebs all over you," the Doctor whispered. "When was the last time they cleaned this place, do you think?" Her fingers were very gentle as they drifted across Clara's ribs.

Clara shoved her knuckles into her mouth, her teeth digging into her knuckle. She was _not_ going to start laughing, although it was monumentally difficult. She'd always been sensitive around the ribs, and it really was a miracle the Doctor hadn't discovered it yet, after all the time the two of them had been together.

The problem was that she was ticklish, yes, and the other problem was that something about the loss of control always made her feel... odd, in a way that was a little bit sexy and a little bit scary. This was very much not the time to explore that sort of thing, although it never seemed to be the right time, did it? 

_Wow, I'm being surprisingly calm here,_ Clara thought distantly, and then the Doctor's fingertips were dancing across her ribs, and the laughter came bubbling out of Clara's throat like water from a hose, and she couldn't really stop it, she was just _laughing_ , and the laughter was loud and squeaky as it came out of her mouth.

There was a crash from outside, and then the Doctor wasn't tickling Clara anymore, but the two of them were _running_ , out the door, and running on sand always made Clara's back hurt, but she didn't have time to think about any of that, because they were trying to get away from tentacles, and the Doctor was going on about something, but she always was. Her coat flew out behind her like the tail of a comet, and her blond hair was like a halo around her head.

She was so magnificent that Clara's heart caught in her throat. Or maybe that was just the running. But none of that mattered, all that mattered was that she kept running, the TARDIS was right there, and once they got to it they'd be fine. 

-*-

They sorted the issue out - of course they did, the Doctor always did. 

The aliens even apologized to them, and then there was a whole discussion about mating frenzy and the fact that Clara and the Doctor didn't go into it. Clara had resisted the urge to make any jokes about Star Trek and Vulcans going into Pon Farr, which really should have earned her some kind of medal. 

But then they were back in the TARDIS, and the Doctor was looking at her sidelong, her expression thoughtful. 

"You being ticklish almost got us eaten," the Doctor said. 

"I'm not ticklish," Clara said reflexively. 

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "No?" She sounded skeptical.

"I'm not," Clara protested, holding her hands up. "I'm just sensitive!"

"To being tickled," the Doctor agreed. 

"I'll prove it," Clara's traitor mouth said, before her brain could catch up with her sense of self preservation. 

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Prove it?" Her tone was teasing.

"I will!" Clara stood there, her chin thrust out. "I'll prove I'm not ticklish."

"And how are you going to do that?" The Doctor was beginning to smirk. It was, admittedly, an expression that looked pretty at home on her face. 

Clara bit her lip, and she was acutely aware of the fact that she was standing in the TARDIS console room in just a bikini, barefoot. The Doctor was fully dressed, apart from her bare feet (she'd taken her boots and socks off, to get the sand out of them), and she was seizing Clara up with a calculating expression. 

"Have a go at me," Clara said, and she stood there, her arms firmly at her sides, 

"I've never needed permission before," the Doctor said dryly, but she took a step closer. "You sure?"

"Do your worst," Clara said, squaring her jaw. 

The Doctor’s cool fingertips slid along Clara’s sides, and Clara bit her lip. She was trying not to wriggle, and her teeth were digging into her lower lip. They started to _wriggle_ , and the giggle was in the very back of Clara’s throat, trying to rise up like bile.

She was being _tickled_ , and the Doctor’s eyes were on her face. “Is this too much?” The Doctor asked, and she was frowning. 

“No,” Clara said, and her voice was only a little choked off. “No, it’s fine. It’s absolutely fine, it’s great, I’m fine, it’s fine, I’m fine, I’m…” A little giggle tried to crawl its way out of her throat, and she bared her teeth.

And then the Doctor’s fingers were in her _armpit_ , and Clara squealed like a recorder being played by a primary student.

The Doctor’s fingers kept moving, wriggling gently, and the gentleness made it worse, didn’t it? If Clara was being tortured by whips and chains, that would have been less _embarrassing_ , that was the kind of torture that they subjected prisoners to, but she was just being _tickled_ , and that was something that parents did to their children, wasn’t it? 

Wait, hadn’t she read that some culture had tortured people by tickling? Or was she misremembering that?

“Are you sure you’re not ticklish?” The Doctor didn’t slow her fingers, and now Clara was laughing in earnest. 

“No,” Clara said. “No, no, no, no, I’m not… ticklish, I’m fine, this is _great_ , Doctor, I swear!” The intensity of the sensations dancing across her skin were too much, and why was hse getting turned on by this? 

Clara liked to be in control. This was a true fact of life. She’d been referred to by a control freak by certain unkind souls, but there was a control to this as well, giving the Doctor a bit of it, and she trusted the Doctor.

… sort of. 

Mostly.

When it came to this sort of thing, she trusted the Doctor. 

She was doubled over with laughter now, and the Doctor’s fingers withdrew, although they stayed hovering over her delicate sides and sensitive armpits. She was panting, her chest heaving, and she looked up at the Doctor through her eyelashes.

“Why did you stop?” She demanded. 

“Well,” said the Doctor, faintly nonplussed, “that looked -”

“I don’t care what it looked like,” Clara said sharply, and then she was grabbing the back of the Doctor’s neck. She kissed the Doctor, and then she was giggling again, as more wriggling fingers wormed their way into her armpit. She broke the kiss, and then she was giggling again, right into the Doctor’s mouth, and her hips were beginning to rock. 

Clara clung to the Doctor’s coat, and the Doctor’s other hand was tickling her belly now, gentle tickling that made her giggle harder, hard enough that her head was starting to hurt, and she was going to have to be careful that she didn’t wet her pants, and she was laughing harder, how could she be laughing so hard, when her chest ached and her heart was racing, her clit throbbed, sweat trickled down her back.

The tips of the Doctor’s fingertips pressed against the waistband of her bikini bottom, and then they were slipping in, and Clara whimpered through her giggles. 

“Oh,” the Doctor said, and she sounded surprised as she cupped Clara’s vulva. “You’re wet. D’you like -”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Clara moaned into the Doctor’s mouth. The tickling had temporarily let up, and Clara dug her fingers into the back of the Doctor’s neck, as the Doctor’s index and middle finger pressed into her, and the Doctor’s thumb circled over her clit. 

“You didn’t know what I were gonna say,” the Doctor said, but she still sounded smug.

Clara kissed her again, to cut into some of the smug, and now at least she was able to catch her breath, as the tickling abated. She pressed her forehead into the Doctor’s shoulder and she sighed, as a finger pressed at the entrance of her cunt. She sighed again, a little harder, and then the Doctor was inside of her, and the Doctor was _tickling_ her again, the Doctor’s fingers were wriggling in her armpit and the Doctor’s fingers were thrusting into her cunt, the Doctor’s thumb moving quickly on her clit, and the conflicting sensations were so _much_. 

She was awash with… feelings, and she was going to drown in it, the way the ridiculous aliens had nearly drowned her in the ocean. She was laughing and laughing, moaning in the back of her throat, tickling and rubbing and thrusting.

“I can feel when you’re laughing,” the Doctor said, her tickling moving across Clara’s belly, then to the other armpit. “I’m going to have to use that fancy bio-engineered dildo, the one what lets me feel it when I fuck you, and tickle you.”

She twisted her fingers inside of Clara, and Clara clenched around the Doctor’s fingers, and the Doctor’s tickling seemed to get even _more_ ferocious, although Clara had no idea how.

“It’s all connected,” the Doctor said dreamily, and she kissed Clara’s forehead, Clara’s temple. “You’re all warm and wet here, and when I do… this…” Another a wriggle of her fingers, inside Clara’s cunt, inside her armpit, “you squeeze me tight. All those muscles, all those nerves, working together…” Another finger inside of Clara’s cunt, and her clit was being rubbed faster.

Clara hunched forward, into the tickling, into the pleasure, and then she was coming, and the orgasm seemed to be working with the tickling, to wring her out and leave her gasping.

The Doctor gave her another kiss on the forehead, and then she paused. “Sorry, didn’t get that,” she said.

“I said,” Clara said, finally catching her breath, “I’m not ticklish.”

The Doctor gave both sets of fingers another good, hard wriggle, and Clara made a noise between a squeal and a giggle, and then she kissed the Doctor’s soft, wet mouth.

It was still smug, but after an orgasm like the one she’d just had… Clara could live with a little smug.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you have an interest in Kinkbruary? You can find out more about it, including the prompts at https://twitter.com/_zaffrin/status/1352316453232504833
> 
> Also, come find me on twitter, TheseusInTheMaz!


End file.
